


Undone by Teeth or Temper

by antivan-beau (sheepsinthenight)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (more like), Banter, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, Rivals With Benefits, Rough Sex, Smut, Sword Flirting, Under-negotiated Kink, but everything that happens is entirely consensual, is perhaps an appropriate tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepsinthenight/pseuds/antivan-beau
Summary: Early Act 2. Badass women work to irritate each other in increasingly inventive ways, while neither isquitewilling to admit how hot the other one is.
Relationships: Isabela/Aveline Vallen
Comments: 25
Kudos: 67





	Undone by Teeth or Temper

**Author's Note:**

> Love to misuse canon dialogue for a pwp intro.

Sunset was fading from gold to carmine outside Aveline’s office windows. Beyond her closed door, the barracks were uncharacteristically silent. The evening patrols had left for their rounds. The off-duty guards were away at dinner. The quiet, in-between time was her best opportunity for privacy. Thus, this was the hour she’d chosen to summon Isabela for a meeting.

As far as Isabela was concerned, an official summons added insult to irritation.

The newly minted guard captain had been insufferable since her promotion. She carried herself with an air of fussy, grave obligation. She only talked about work: which recruits needed more training (mundane), which patrol routes were getting updated (pointless), which armories had the best rates for bulk orders (excruciatingly boring). _And_ she never stayed for a second round at the Hanged Man, anymore. Depending on the crowd at the bar, sometimes she even skipped the first.

The greater Aveline’s devotion to her duty became, the more Isabela felt compelled to have conspicuous fun. In turn, Aveline had ramped up her moralizing. Hawke frequently had to cajole them into civility. Their bickering had reached a point where they couldn’t be brought on the same missions, even when their skills might compliment each other. 

But now, Aveline had the audacity to issue a _summons_. Isabela figured that this would be some new lecture, reprimand, or worst of all, life advice. She had decided to come mainly on the grounds that it gave her a fresh opportunity to be annoying. 

With this goal in mind, she ignored the office’s empty chair, sitting instead on the edge of the guard captain’s desk. She crossed her legs and tapped a boot against the oak-paneled side, sending a shower of Lowtown dirt onto the immaculate floor. She splayed her hand atop some meaningless paperwork as she leaned toward the woman across from her. Her smile was easy and fond.

For her part, Aveline sat behind her desk with her hands on her knees, looking an average amount of stiff and disagreeable. At least she wasn’t wearing full plate. She’d eschewed her armor for a leather cuirass, tunic, and breeches, reminiscent of what she’d worn her first years in Kirkwall. 

She winced almost imperceptibly at the dirt, which upgraded Isabela’s smile to a grin.

The guard captain drew a tight inhale. “I had trouble with another one of your women.” She massaged her forehead one-handed and let her eyes fall closed. “She stole from a... distracted client. You're lucky she wasn't jailed.”

“My women?” Isabela put a hand to her chest. “I am but a shepherd. And what free enterprise are you oppressing now?”

Aveline opened her eyes to glare. “Theft is not enterprise.”

“Opportunities insufficiently guarded. Victimless crimes.”

“Isabela.” Aveline’s frown deepened. It pulled her eyebrows together in an adorable crease. “I’m not a simple patrolwoman anymore. I can’t ignore things like I used to. Exercise some discretion in your associates.”

“Discretion,” Isabela mused, “Yes, I think I’ve heard of it. Isn’t that an Orlesian wine region?”

“And some personal advice,” Aveline persisted icily, “‘Associate’ in all senses of the word. Although I’m sure you occasionally do business standing up and fully clothed.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. She shoved off the desk and stood before it, arms folded across her chest. “What’s gotten into you lately? Does your new roster of duties include ‘being an asshole?’” She gave a conspiratorial look. “Are things going poorly with your young man?”

She was rewarded by the flash of real irritation that crossed Aveline’s face, before the guard captain wrested control of herself again. “Shut up. You don’t know a thing about Donnic.”

“I imagine it’s hard,” Isabela continued sweetly, “Not being touched by a man for three years. I’m sure Hawke would accompany you on another goose chase to woo him, very befitting of any grown woman, let alone - ”

“Shut _up._ ”

“I might offer to help relieve some tension, but I don’t usually take charity cases.”

Aveline leaned forward in her seat. Her expression was dangerous. “I will not ask a third time, whore.”

Isabela was chasing the sharp delight of pushing someone else’s buttons. But despite herself, or maybe because her blood was up, she felt her own anger flare. “Alright, it’s one thing if we’re being creative. But you can’t just call me names. I’ve got my pride to maintain.”

Aveline smiled thinly. “You always provide such an apt demonstration of how ‘pride’ and ‘self-respect’ aren’t the same thing.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Isabela dropped her arms to her sides, fingers brushing the cutlass at her hip. It was an automatic gesture. Negotiations with thieves and smugglers were full of little warnings, reminders to keep things civil. Dockside scuffles could quickly sour from injurious to deadly; better to threaten rather than draw.

But perhaps the gesture only counted as “subtle reminder” among pirates. She saw Aveline’s eyes dart to the motion. In an instant, the guard captain was on her feet with a short sword drawn expertly into a fighting grip. Her stance without a shield was just as precise and confident.

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “Easy now. I thought we were just here to talk. Captain to Captain.”

“I have heard enough out of you,” Aveline snarled. “Get out of my office.”

“Oh? Or else you’ll what, big girl?”

Aveline was fast. She rounded the desk in three strides. Their steel sang with sparks as Isabela barely blocked a strike aimed at her midsection. She’d pulled her shorter, left-handed dagger free from its scabbard. 

Aveline glowered at her over their crossed blades. Her face was all angles: square jaw, defined cheekbones, resolute brow. 

Isabela remarked, “Has anyone every told you how much prettier you’d be if you smiled?”

Aveline’s reply was a precise flick of her shortsword to separate their blades, then a slash toward the pirate’s waist. This time, Isabela darted back with a feint and riposte. Another ringing clang as Aveline swatted her dagger aside. 

Isabela’s arm resounded with the force of the blow. She grit her teeth against the numbness she knew would follow. 

She didn’t have the strength to keep blocking heavy strikes, and she didn’t have enough room to maneuver in her preferred duelist style. She couldn’t even draw her cutlass; for the same reason Aveline eschewed a shield, she feared a larger weapon would be more hindrance than help. There was too much furniture: empty chairs before the desk, a bookcase, a low table jutting out from the wall with a wooden chest atop it, a suit of armor acting as a cloak rack.

Aveline made a few more feints, strikes that started out high but that swept low across her body. These, Isabela managed to dart away from rather than parry. She felt herself moving backward, watching the angle of light on Aveline’s blade, poised for the turn toward piercing thrusts that could pin her against the wall.

Ultimately, it was because Isabela was used to fighting to kill, rather than to subdue, that she didn’t predict Aveline’s shove with the flat of her blade. Isabela’s back hit the stone, forcing the wind from her lungs. White spots blossomed in her vision.

When the spots cleared, her gaze traveled down the length of the sword beneath her chin, then up toward grim, hazel eyes. There was hot anger there, but it was a measured burn like a hearthfire. Or a pyre.

Isabela’s life had no shortage of swords pointed at throats, but she tended to be on the other end these encounters. As she watched Aveline’s breath rise and fall, she decided this side wasn’t all bad. Getting the other woman agitated to the point of outburst was its own reward.

Also, she was quite tall. Her flush made the freckles across her nose more prominent. This close, she smelled like steel, rose oil, and clean sweat.

The guard captain’s voice was as level as her blade. “Drop your dagger.”

Isabela’s impulse was a retort. _Can’t I sheathe it instead? It’s good Antivan steel, don’t want it getting nicked on your fancy floor._ But something in Aveline’s tone stopped her. She trusted her intuition for threats, her prickling of real fear. After a breath’s pause, her blade clattered against the marble.

“Turn around.”

A question briefly fluttered across Isabela’s face, but evidently, two pauses was too much for Aveline. The bigger woman grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her roughly so that her forehead pressed against the stone wall. There was the whisper of a sheathed sword. A moment later, Aveline was running a hand down from Isabela’s shoulder to her elbow, before she jerked the pirate’s arm behind her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Restraining you.”

She repeated the motion with practiced efficiency to Isabela’s left arm. Her hand was large enough that she could hold both wrists in a bar against the curve of Isabela’s spine. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t painful, at least until she applied pressure -

“Ouch! What - ”

“Quit squirming.”

Then, the guard captain did something unexpected. With her free hand, she unbuckled the sword belt at Isabela’s hips and tugged until it came free. Unceremoniously, she dropped the belt with its sheathed cutlass into a wooden chest on the table beside them.

She leaned down and slid her hand up one of Isabela’s boots from calf to knee, tracing the shape of another smaller dagger concealed there. She pushed her fingers inside the boot to draw it out, and threw it into the strongbox beside the cutlass.

“Weak excuse to cop a feel, big girl.”

Aveline tightened her grip and Isabela hissed. She had only a moment to wonder how thorough Aveline was planning to be, before the guard’s questing fingers found the dagger in her garter sheath. Isabela would be the first to admit that one was mostly for aesthetics. It wasn’t a practical place to draw from. Her captor plucked it without much consideration. Callused fingers left a lingering warmth against her thigh.

As the situation grew stranger, Isabela fought to maintain her upper hand, to stay the person driving their encounter. But despite herself, she couldn’t master her voice to keep it merely derisive. There was a breathiness there: a little like fury, a little like flustered. “Have you always fancied women? Or am I a lucky exception?” It was an idle statement, meant simply to embarrass her.

Aveline said nothing in reply. She’s found the blade concealed between Isabela’s shoulders, beneath her tunic. Once she’d pulled that free, she leaned against her body, breath against her neck. Aveline’s free hand was at her front now, patting down her stomach and, without any hesitation, her breasts.

Isabela persisted ruthlessly, trying to ignore the heat that was rising in her cheeks. “Something you’ve taken up for novelty’s sake? Missing your dead husband?”

Aveline’s nails dug into her shoulder as she turned Isabela around to slap her across the face.

“You consummate bitch,” she growled. “How dare you talk about husbands.”

The sting of the slap had Isabela breathing harder. She scrabbled to get away from the wall, but Aveline splayed one hand against her collar, pressing Isabela’s necklace into her skin and her shoulders against the stone.

Now that she faced forward, Isabela got a gratifying view of Aveline’s flush as she resumed her search. The guard captain wasn’t completely unfazed in her duty. Her jaw was set, but her eyes were dark. Her free hand slid again over Isabela’s chest. Her eyes widened at the feel of her pierced nipple beneath rough cotton.

A mocking smile was one of Isabela’s dwindling options for resistance. She took full advantage. But she would have sworn Aveline took her time.

Finally, Aveline released her. With the same movement, she reached out to close the strongbox lid. It fell shut with the click of a locking latch. 

Something about that sound set Isabela’s nerves alight. It made her vulnerability real. As her back scraped the wall, her anger burned brighter than her fear. 

“What happens now?” she asked softly.

“I’m through,” Aveline hissed. “Through with your posturing, your insolence, your recklessness, your _selfishness_ \- ”

Their faces were close. The way her chest rose and fell was a perfect match to Isabela’s. When Aveline noticed, she took a deliberate, slow inhale. “Now,” she said, schooling her voice to something more neutral, “I’m arresting you for piracy. Maker knows I’ve got enough evidence.”

Isabela blinked. Aveline didn’t turn around, but inched backward until her fingers gripped the edge of her desk. Finally, she lowered her eyes to thumb through a sheaf of papers behind her. She regained her poise quickly, trading anger for duty. But seeing the guard captain lose her cool was more tantalizing than it had any right to be. 

Isabela crossed her arms over her chest. “Damn. That’s going to disrupt all my plans for the week.”

“Piracy carries a minimum prison sentence in _years,_ actually.”

Isabela scoffed. “Can’t imagine I’ll take longer than a week to escape. And I’ll make your life a living Void after I do.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Aveline’s tone was level, but she was obviously flustered. Her eyes stayed downcast. Her hands trembled as she rearranged parchment with awkward imprecision. In another moment, it might have been endearing. But people did all kinds of stupid things when they were flustered. Beneath her bravado, Isabela worried that the two of them had crossed some line.

She tested the waters. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Piracy is a serious crime,” Aveline replied. She picked up a quill and jotted something down. 

Somehow, the movement of that quill surpassed infuriating. It was a gauntlet slap. After an exhilarating fight and partial strip-search, she was going to stand there and _fill out the correct arrest paperwork?_

Watching her, Isabela realized what she wanted was to see Aveline _undone._ Nothing duty-bound, affected, superior. She wanted the way Aveline fought when she was angry: pure strength and talent, reacting on instinct. And she wanted it because _she’d_ pushed Aveline there. That was the fuel that kept Isabela inventing new ways be irritating: she aimed to provoke something honest. Their back-and-forth was more interesting than the flirtation she could trade with strangers any given evening at the Hanged Man.

Undone. Honest. With the lingering feeling of rough hands on her skin, Isabela had to admit to herself that there were a few specific ways she’d like that to happen. 

How would Aveline be as a lover? She’d gone so long without, would she be blushing and awkward? Or would she rise to a challenge and fuck like she fought? Either option interested Isabela - regardless, the guard captain's reactions would be at _her_ whim.

This probably wouldn’t work, but at least it would be amusing to try.

“Tell you what. Let’s avoid the fuss.” The edge to Isabela's voice left her meaning unambiguous. “What if I had some other way to prove my contrition?” 

Aveline dropped the quill she held. It fluttered downward and hit the desk with a small _tak_. She looked up, somewhere between curious and mortified. _“What?”_

“You don’t need to pretend you’re not interested,” Isabela smiled. “And the truth is, you’re a handsome woman, no matter what I might have said in the past. I love your hair, your freckles are darling, and you’ve got _such_ strong hands.”

Aveline spoke slowly. “What exactly are you offering, here?”

Isabela risked a step toward her desk. “Two birds, one stone,” she said conversationally. “You don’t go through the headache of arresting me. I don’t go through the headache of breaking out of prison. I get to prove my expertise as a lover. You get your first orgasm in three years without cramping your own wrist. And we both get to tell Hawke that we finally worked out some tension.”

Her words hung in the air. This was not a stoic moment for Aveline. Many expressions fought for dominance on her ruddy face. But what won out was an incredulous little smile when she said, “That’s a lot of birds, actually.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, as if scarcely believing what she said. “But to be clear - we don’t breathe a word of this to Hawke or the others.”

“On my honor as a captain.” Isabela had to school the glee from her face. 

Aveline raised a warning eyebrow. “You don’t have a ship anymore.”

“Being a captain is a feature of one’s heart. Surprised I have to tell _you_ that.”

A breath. Then, Aveline reached back to tug on the curtain. The fabric fell closed, plunging the room into burgundy twilight. 

Her voice was soft, but it carried. “Lock the door.”

A thrill raced through Isabela as she crossed the room. The latch was cool beneath her fingers. For a moment, she considered bolting from the office and leaving Aveline bemused and humiliated. But she had to admit to herself that she wanted to see where this would go. 

The lock clicked into place, twin to the sound from the strongbox. She turned around.

Aveline leaned against her desk, weight on one leg, arms folded over her chest. Apart from a slight flush, she looked much as she had when their meeting began.

Without breaking eye-contact, Isabela’s fingers found the knot on the sash around her hips. It fell to the floor in a flutter of blue satin.

Aveline’s kept her voice low. “Take that off.” From the sweep of her eyes up and down, Isabela could tell Aveline meant her tunic.

Irritation flicked across her face; she couldn't help it. Although that was what she’d planned next, she didn’t fancy being told what to do. Still, she drug a hand up her stomach and began to tug the laces loose, slow and deliberate.

A lot of people had seen Isabela undress. She loved their expressions: eager, appreciative, hungry. At times, even full of wonder. What she wasn’t prepared for was Aveline’s appraising regard. A little fond. A little condescending.

Isabela traced her fingertips down the sides of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. She found herself unusually sensitive, alert to the scratch of fabric against her skin, the coolness of the air. Aveline’s gaze had its own weight. Isabela crossed her arms at her hips and pulled her tunic up over her head. In the guards’ office in the Vicount’s Keep, she stood naked to the waist, save for a few choice pieces of jewelry.

Aveline nodded curt approval. “Keep the boots though.”

Isabela’s skin was too dark to show her flush, but she felt her cheeks burn with more than anger. “Of course you’d try to be bossy about this, too.”

Aveline smiled. “Want to go back to plan A?”

“I’m just saying.” Isabela stepped closer, putting a little extra sway into her hips. “Following orders isn’t my style.”

“Should have thought of that before you lost a sword fight and then propositioned me.”

Fury pushed Isabela the rest of the way to the desk in three strides. She grabbed Aveline by the front of her shirt, ready to kiss her breathless, to wipe the smirk off her face.

Faster again, Aveline reached up a steady hand and splayed her fingers lightly against her throat. 

A wave of traitorous arousal coursed through Isabela as her breath went shallow. Her fist was frozen in a tangle of cotton. She tried to pull Aveline forward, but the guard’s fingers tightened in precise warning.

With her other hand, Aveline reached out to Isabela’s waist. Her callused palm was warm against bare skin. Short nails skirted over her side, making Isabela shiver. Aveline’s hand reached her back, and she tugged the two of them closer together. Their hip bones pressed, almost painfully.

Her breath was warm against Isabela’s ear. “What happened to contrition?”

“ _Fuck_ you - ”

Aveline’s hand drifted lower to cup her ass. She squeezed overtop Isabela’s admittedly scant smallclothes. _Damn_ she had strong hands. 

“Thought that was the point,” Aveline murmured.

“Not like - ”

Aveline pulled back to regard her. She continued to knead Isabela’s ass, but the hand on her neck was perfectly still. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to take your hand off my shirt.”

Isabela struggled to collect herself. Every touch was vivid, but her mind was a blur. _This_ was the woman who could barely work up the courage to talk to the man she fancied? This was not the plan. She wanted _undone,_ not Aveline utterly composed in a new, unpredictable way. Submission was a game Isabela occasionally enjoyed. With particular people. For short periods of time. With Aveline, it was unconscionable. 

But in this position, she decided her only winning moves came from playing the long game. She released Aveline’s lapels and let her fist drop to her side.

The guard captain’s smile was so ordinary, so pleased. Isabela could not remember wanting to hurt her more than at this moment. She imagined pulling Aveline's shirt off to scratch rivulets down her pale sides, to watch the look of pain and pleasure on her face. Anyway, what did her _tits_ look like?

The guard captain drug her hand down from Isabela’s neck to her collar, heavy necklace pressing faint marks into her skin. A trace of hesitation crossed Aveline’s face, then she steeled herself and brought her hand down to her breast. She tugged on a nipple gently. The feeling went straight between Isabela’s legs.

“That wasn’t so difficult,” Aveline said, a little breathlessly. 

Isabela was pleased to hear the strain in her voice. The tendons in her own forearm were tight from her clenched fist. 

Aveline’s hand left her ass. She worked her fingers into Isabela’s fist to pry it open. In another moment, they might have laughed at how similar their hands felt. Piracy and guarding had few commonalities, but they both imparted calluses rough enough to sand wood.

Aveline guided Isabela’s hand to the waistband of her trousers. “Now, you’re going to help me get these off. Nicely.”

After a breath’s pause, Isabela got to work. She didn’t want to be tenderly unfastening a belt buckle. She wanted her dagger back to cut off Aveline’s clothes. She wanted to arch Aveline against her own desk until her back strained, with a fist in her hair and three fingers in her cunt, until she sobbed for release with Isabela’s name on her lips.

Belt and trousers clattered to the floor, followed by the whisper of smallclothes. Isabela looked down. At some point, Aveline had gone through a growth spurt that had left stretch marks on her knees. This was so endearing it nearly made Isabela sick.

Aveline kicked off her boots and stepped out of the tangle of clothes at her feet. Doing so pulled them apart. Despite herself, Isabela ached for the press of their hips and the hand on her breast.

Aveline took a few more steps backward, moving around her desk. She settled smugly in her high-backed chair. A gesture bid her companion to follow. A second gesture, a single finger pointing down to the floor beneath her, had Isabela on her knees. 

Isabela's face burned. She was incandescently furious and wet through her smalls.

Aveline’s voice barely wavered. “Just use your mouth. Keep your hands behind your back.”

“I could do this better if you let me use my hands.”

“I thought you had some talent at this. Or are you merely prolific?”

Isabela rolled her eyes. Before Aveline had time to react, Isabela reached forward to tug her hips off the chair. The guard captain made an undignified sound as she slumped in her seat, which was the best thing that had happened to Isabela in minutes. But once she had Aveline in a better position, Isabela did as she was told and folded her hands at the curve of her spine.

Aveline spread her legs. In spite of her commanding poise, she was wet enough that her thighs were slick. The sight made Isabela ache.

She leaned forward to kiss the freckles on her thighs and felt Aveline’s breath hitch. She imagined biting bruises. With light kisses and drags of her tongue, she worked her way closer to her sex. Aveline’s skin was sour-sweet with sweat and arousal.

Regardless of their current circumstances, Isabela was mindful that it truly had been years since the other woman had done anything like this. No need to rush things; she enjoyed taking her time.

But Aveline reached down to work a hand into her hair, tugging her roughly upward. No more teasing, then.

At this point, Isabela shouldn’t have been surprised by the instructions. “More pressure,” “not there,” “like that,” fell easily from Aveline’s lips. A woman who knew what she wanted.

In this, Isabela was happy to comply. She let her eyes flutter closed, lost to the taste and feel of Aveline against her mouth. Quick enough to be gratifying, sentences became phrases, then phrases were reduced to moans. Eventually, Isabela manged to work her into breathy, near-silence.

She risked a glance upward. Aveline’s eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted. Her blush was glorious. If she were topless, Isabela was sure her flush would reach her navel.

The hand in her hair tightened. Despite herself, Isabela moaned into her cunt in a way that made Aveline wrap her legs to pull her forward.

But Aveline pulled hard, which was annoying. In retaliation, Isabela sucked the skin above her clit and rolled it between her teeth.

Aveline cried out, somewhere between pain and pleasure, then tugged Isabela’s head back. Red-faced and resolute, she pushed two fingers between Isabela's full lips.

Isabela, however, liked having things in her mouth. She kept her eyes on Aveline’s face and ran her tongue along the callused digits. Then she sucked, every inch the decadent pirate queen.

An involuntary, helpless noise escaped Aveline's lips. Isabela had to resist the impulse to smirk. She savored the feeling of Aveline working her fingers in and out of her mouth, before she pulled away with a soft pop.

Moving urgently now, Aveline leaned back against her chair and spread her legs again. She pushed her fingers, wet with Isabela's spit, past her thatch of ginger hair, teasing her entrance. She pressed in a V on either side before dipping within.

Isabela’s mouth hung open. Maker, Aveline looked good touching herself. The sounds of her moans, in time with the movement of her fingers, were almost too much to bear. The spot she was searching for was hard to reach from her angle. But would be easier from below.

“Let me,” Isabela said, in a tone that was supposed to be smug but came out choked with want.

Aveline withdrew her fingers and Isabela caught her wrist. She brought her own hand against Aveline’s sex, and the other woman canted her hips, seeking fuller contact.

 _That_ was better. Seeing her truly needy for something only Isabela could give.

Aveline felt the shift between them, too. She spoke, in a tone that was supposed to be commanding but came out breathless: “Just fuck me, already.”

If she were a stronger woman, Isabela would have waited. Made her beg. This would have been the moment. But she wanted her fingers inside Aveline as much as the guard captain did. After a few light strokes against her folds, she turned her wrist and pushed into her cunt.

The sound Aveline made was worth it. Need, relief, triumph, and surrender combined into one groan that echoed around her office.

Isabela wrapped her arm around one thigh to pull her closer, pressing her mouth above her clit as she thrust mercilessly. Freckled hips rocked to meet her hand. Isabela plunged down to her knuckles, and Aveline writhed beneath her. 

Her final instructions were incoherent cries mixed with praise. “Harder, yes, Maker, please - ”

Isabela felt her tense and release. Felt a final burst of wetness around her fingers, against her tongue.

She stayed in place for a moment, listening to Aveline’s breath rise and fall above her. As Isabela returned to herself, the heat between her own legs became less pressing than the ache in her knees. The desk made a solid brace as she got to her feet.

She wiped her arm over her glistening mouth and grinned. She knew exactly how good she looked.

Aveline was staring up at her: a little dazed, a little pleased, deeply relaxed. After a moment, she stood, too, although her legs visibly trembled as she leaned against the desk. Hard not to be proud of that.

Isabela had no thought that reciprocation would be part of their game. Which was why it shocked her, once Aveline steadied herself, that the first thing she did was push her hand between Isabela’s legs, slipping beneath fabric and past a light dusting of hair. Both scarcely breathed.

Aveline looked at her with an expression that was part derision and part shocked, soft wonder. “Maker, you’re so - ”

She ran two fingers between her folds and Isabela drew a sharp inhale. Looking more curious than confident, Aveline slid her fingers back and forth again. Then slowly, pushed them inside.

Isabela leaned forward to kiss her. Aveline seemed to surprise herself by accepting. Her lips were soft, and parted to Isabela’s expert tongue.

Aveline worked her fingers in and out, in awe at the low sounds she could coax out of the pirate’s mouth and into her own. She kept up slow, deep strokes when Isabela broke their kiss. At the next push of fingers, Isabela quieted her moans by pressing her mouth to Aveline’s pale throat. This made Aveline's breath catch; her thrusts quickened.

The angle wasn’t ideal, and Aveline’s technique was inexpert, but Isabela was so painfully aroused that she realized she could definitely finish like this. She drug her lips up to Aveline’s ear, where she whispered a few instructions of her own, as well as begging for a third finger. When she got it, she returned her teeth to Aveline’s neck, or she would have screamed loud enough for the Vicount to hear.

Aveline gripped her hip with her left hand, nails leaving tiny crescents in her skin. The heel of her palm rubbed Isabela’s clit as her fingers thrust unrelentingly. She growled, “You’re lucky you’re so beautiful like this, or I wouldn’t even think about letting you come.”

Embarrassingly, that was what did her in. She cried out and clutched Aveline’s shoulder as her orgasm overtook her. They stood together for a strange, suspended moment as she trembled against Aveline's body.

Eventually, Aveline broke the spell by pulling out, wiping her fingers absently on Isabela's thigh.

Isabela blinked up at her, as if emerging from a trance. Then she raised her hand to Aveline’s neck, gently pressing her thumb against the one of the love bites she’d left.

“Clumsy me,” she whispered through her grin.

Realization dawned on Aveline’s face. An exasperated groan left her lips as she stumbled back a few steps.

Isabela looked on gleefully. “How are you going to explain that one?” 

“Isabela - ”

“Tell your men you finally visited the Blooming Rose?”

“You devious, conniving, treacherous - ”

“Careful, big girl, those are compliments in my line of work.” Her eyes danced. “You _did_ threaten to arrest me. Not like I could really let that go.”

Aveline ran a hand over her ginger hair. It was hilarious to see her self-conscious after everything that had transpired. “What am I supposed to do about this…”

“Consider a bandana?”

“Overtop of armor?” Aveline asked incredulously.

“I dunno. Your problem, not mine.”

Twilight had fallen outside. As Aveline puttered around her office, lighting candles and looking exasperated, Isabela chalked this up as a definite win. Her knees hurt, and she’d gained a few new bruises, but she was otherwise unscathed.

She retrieved her tunic from the floor and pulled it over her head. Re-lacing took a bit of undignified adjustment. As a busty woman who liked tight clothes, it came with the territory. Once she finished, she glanced across the room. Aveline was pulling on her pants, a little gingerly, clearing deciding how to navigate the dampness. 

Isabela didn’t offer any advice. Instead, she said, “You’re better at kissing than I thought you’d be.”

Aveline looked up and smiled. “You’re about as good as I thought you’d be.”

“Thought about it before, have you?”

In a moment of unexpected reticence, Aveline merely shrugged.

Isabela ventured, “If this has any chance of happening again, let me just say that I hope things continue to go poorly with Donnic.”

Aveline barked out a laugh. “Now you have officially overstayed your welcome.”

“Good try, but I’m not leaving without my daggers.”

Once she finished dressing, Aveline pulled a key from the desk’s top drawer and used it to unlock the strongbox. Isabela underwent the ordeal of rearming herself and adjusting her clothing.

Aveline watched her thoughtfully, leaning against the wall beside her. The right side of her neck was darkening with bruises the shape of Isabela’s mouth.

Perhaps because she was still pondering her predicament, she didn’t consider the danger presented by her now-armed companion.

A flash of steel was her only warning, before Isabela’s dagger was beneath her chin. Aveline froze in place.

Isabela's smirk was wide enough to match the curve of her blade. “If you ever want a next time,” she said softly. “We have to fight properly. I get both my swords. You give me enough room to maneuver. And you’ll see what happens when I win.”

Aveline swallowed. The tip of the dagger moved against her skin. Still, she managed a wry smile in return. “You think you’ll win, do you?”

“Well, I’ll be highly motivated now that I know the sounds you make when you’re about to come.”

Although her expression didn't change, it was still fun to watch Aveline blush. Isabela sheathed her dagger across her back and stepped away. “Come with us to the Hanged Man tonight?”

Aveline looked to her desk helplessly. “I still have work to do.”

“Maker’s fucking breath, you are _insufferable._ ”

Isabela unlocked the office door herself. From the plaza outside the Keep, she watched the glow from the office window and shook her head. Three steps beyond, she was out into the Kirkwall night.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally baffling to me that these two are a rarepair. They have so much potential.
> 
> If anybody wants to write the sequel to this, where they fight again and Isabela wins, my only request is that Isabela has A Thing about getting Aveline to call her “Captain.”


End file.
